A Prayer and a Cheer

Today we got invited to attend the school church before classes. Prior to the service, the students formed assembly in the school yard and raised their flag. The prefects marched to the front and led the salute, three fingers at the forehead turned outward. The national anthem was sung by all the grades with one little boy dancing in the front row, his hips thrusting forward and back with vigor while his face remained comically stern.

After assembly we followed into the building. They removed the wooden divides that separated Grade 4 from Grade 5, fitting everyone into the space. Students scrambled to grab desks from the other rooms so each person had a seat. Florence and I were given our usual blue plastic chairs--the ones they reserve for visitors and guests.

Immediately, the room boomed with clapping and song. Each class led a call and response portion, then walked their way down the aisle keeping rhythm while singing their song. Then the teachers were greeted and prayed for, one by one. Each teacher, in turn, led the chorus--students clapping and making gestures to match the words. A drum was passed from one hand to the next.

Florence and I were next to be greeted. Teacher Steve signaled for us to stand up and lead a song of our own. We smiled and waved and said asanteni sana. We didn't know any Swahili songs and they knew just as much. The students giggled and the other teachers smiled our way.

Teacher Macori stood up to transfer the attention and started a prayer song. It was filled with musical notes running  past each other; the song was powerful and haunting. Slowly the students joined in, but their faces were somber. Macori's hand stayed in the air by her head, surrendering to a message we couldn't understand. While some students sang, they put their faces in their hands, Macori's face looked pained and sad. This was a song of grief--a public acknowledgement of hardships, a verbal plea for burdens to be lifted.

With a prayer and a cheer, church was over. Desks were run back to their original classrooms and students ran to their field for recess. Florence and I were invited to the teacher's circle to chat and exchange cultural hand games. We laughed and bonded and silently respected the release that church had provided just minutes before. Suddenly, the bell rang and class was to be resumed; another day of school at Rumwe.